Dust to Dust
by Nasyki
Summary: LVHP. Voldemort had been gone for 19 years, when Harry’s scar begins to hurt what else can he assume but the worst? Slowly things begin to appear not what they seem…what happens when the definition of dream and reality is gone? Chap2 up!
1. Prologue

**Nasyki:** I was so devastated with the ending of Harry Potter I sulked for months. I came up with this idea shortly after DH came out…and the idea has healed my aversion to the ending somewhat. If you were in the same predicament may this fanfic revitalize you as it has done to me.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. If I did, you could bet your bottom dollar that there would not have been an epilogue.

**Warnings:** _**Spoilers up to DH**_, this story takes place 2 days after the epilogue. This story will have yaoi aka slash, n/c or non-con, anal, bdsm, d/s, h/c etc… It'll take a while to get into that though. First we have to wait for Voldemort to make an appearance…and whatnot.

**Summary:** LVHP. "'Tell me one last thing,' said Harry. 'Is this real? Or has this been happening inside my head?'/Dumbledore beamed at him, and his voice sounded loud and strong in Harry's ears even though the bright mist was descending again, obscuring his figure./ 'Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?'" — Voldemort had been gone for 19 years, when Harry's scar begins to hurt what else can he assume but the worst? Slowly things begin to appear not what they seem…what happens when the definition of dream and reality is gone?

**Dust to Dust**

By: Nasyki Ikysan

Chapter 1 (_Prologue_)

"'Tell me one last thing,' said Harry. 'Is this real? Or has this been happening inside my head?'

"Dumbledore beamed at him, and his voice sounded loud and strong in Harry's ears even though the bright mist was descending again, obscuring his figure.

"'Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?' (Deathly Hallows, page 723)" —J.K. Rowling

**Scene One of Four**

Thin lips pursed together tightly in lieu of the developing world beyond his grasps. As fragmented light flickered in the wake of the dimming glow, silky shadows crept from his lips half way up his face in the form of a tender smile — the light flickered — the from of a menacing leer adorning his features — the light flickered yet again — the darkness smiled for him — before dimming as the wick finally gave and the life was finally snuffed from the side of the light. The darkness was total. It took a breeze of a pale hand slipping long fingers across the neutral expression of the only other company in the room that lie lifelessly across a broad surface that was a bed. The weariness of the unaware showed in the small layer of dust that kissed untouched skin. The enveloping darkness settled and drew into the youth that seemed to sleep for an eternity. In unexpected grace and swiftness the hand withdrew itself and the breath of life was gone, greeted only by the unkindly silence.

"Soon," he spoke in morose. "It will all be over very soon. So enjoy your happiness." The room seemed to shiver in the sadness of the unrelenting voice shying away from the power. In the dark it seemed only whispers were necessary.

_I need happiness_. The room seemed to say in kind. Frightened by this lonely sadness that broke everything that was or ever will be.

"You are my happiness." He made no move to leave: astute in his own mind. Devoured by the little that was the flittering of his eyelids. And so he would wait, embraced by the darkness. Soon the dust would settle on him too. And soon, _very_ soon he would be greeted by the opalescent keen of green...

**Scene Two of Four**

He was alone. Again struck by the harsh knowing of solitary in a room that had haunted him for many years. It hadn't changed, and maybe that was the problem. Still adorning the thick mahogany surface were a collection of official looking parchment addressed to his headmaster. The clutter of the room was welcoming as all of the trinkets collected over a lifetime slipped across the many shelves. The sword of Gryffindor clung to the wall in it's usual place, and though there was no sign of the phoenix his perch stood dignified in a purposeful manner adjacent to the large desk in front of him. He could see all of the portraits of the previous headmasters crawl across the length of the walls with the exception of one missing that he knew should be there…why it should did not cross his mind as he glanced absentmindedly at the sorting hat.

Everything looked like it should. Like it had for all of the years that he had been here, at Hogwarts…but it seemed that something was wrong with that. Sitting across from the desk in the chair he had used so many times in the past, he frowned. Something was amiss and he couldn't quite place it. All he could do was sit and wait.

And wait he did. He drew in a slow breath and it felt as though time had stopped forever, when finally there was the friendly sound of a rattling doorknob and the click of a door. He swirled around to look at the opening door, and his heart stopped—a graceful whorl of light blue robes, the lengthy man whose beard shot down, the glare of light reflecting on half-moon spectacles…and finally a withered face with sparkling eyes.

It didn't take two seconds to register this man, but no sooner had he seen him he felt something warm and wet hit his hand. He looked down and watched as tears fell from his cheeks onto a shattering puddle in his lap. Why was he crying—?

He was on his feet, wobbly and unstable as he grasped at the air and feel into the man that had been so important to him for so long, so very long…but he could still feel it in the room. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. He still couldn't put his finger on it.

"Du-Dumbledore!" he choked through ragged sobs embracing the man so tightly he felt the strain on his muscles. He looked up and through his pooling eyes and he could barely see the blur of the man that smiled just so at him. Long fingers ran comfortingly through his matted hair.

"My dear boy— " he began as another ragged sob racked over the young body. "—before it is too late— "

Gentle fingers turned harsh as the soothing circles turned into an iron grip. It was then that it was too late. He looked up, and the kindly old man began to shrink. Long gray hair began to suck back into his head along with the long wiry nose. When blue eyes turned red, he knew it was much too late.

A split second later he was crying out again, now; however, from physical pain. His throbbing head burned with a shooting ache like lava through his lightning bolt scar. An echoing laugh, an echoing laugh said so much to his withering state. Blue cloak turned crimson as seething tendrils flickered in the edge of his vision. Two strong hands weaved themselves around his throat and tightened. His head burned.

"Harry, Harry, Harry…" the now younger seeming man tutted using his thumbs to trace lines down and up the boy's jaw, grip still steel around his jugular. A split tongue flicked out of his mouth and came dangerously close to chapped lips. "It is almost time. Soon, it will all be over…very soon. So enjoy your happiness," the voice tisked low, sad, and oh so full of possible horrors that would soon come to be. The twinkle that had been in Dumbledore's faded eyes remained. Though now the silvery secret seemed to mean something different, and like the wrongness of the room, try as he might, he could not place it.

"_You just need to wake up_," the man hissed in parseltongue leaning in so that each hiss tickled the boy's ear lobe. He tightened his grip and began to shake the boy. "_You just need to wake up_," he hissed. Sparkling blackness began to delight his vision deluding the room to darkness. His head heart so bad… "_You just need to wake up_," he hissed again, eyes brimming with morbid amusement.

Voldemort said—

His terrified eyes snapped open.

**Scene Three of Four**

Harry Potter did not tremble often. In fact, it had been quite a number of years since anything fazed him to a strong emotion of any kind. It had been nineteen years since the contaminating emotions of anger, grief, fear, and revenge had run black through his veins. And with the passing of time the blemishes to his person seemed to leave him with only the ghost of the feelings and blurry cobwebs in the back of his mind. The only strong emotions that he had felt at all these days were the comfort of normalcy, love, and pride: these things mostly erected by his two best friends, wife, or children. Today; however, differed from his new life and new emotions that had made him for the first time, whole. His childhood brokenness had finally been mended, or so he though, until now.

Harry Potter felt terror. Retched body-clenching tremors raked his body in terrible convolutions that left him breathless. Cold, thick blood forced slowly through his veins as salty sweat dowsed his body with a colorful sheen. But nothing showed the concrete horror he felt more than his wide over-dilated emerald eyes. It had been nineteen years…

He felt sick.

Without pause for breath the 36-year-old Harry Potter had flown soundlessly off his bed (without alerting his wife), across the room, and into the bathroom where he promptly merged with the floor and purged himself of the heart-stopping turmoil he was in by emptying the contents of his stomach into the porcelain bowl below him. The appalling sounds of retching filled the small space quickly, reverberating loudly off the tile floor and walls. The potent smell of acidic nature filled just as swiftly as the sounds and another convolution overtook him. He felt sick. It had been nineteen years since he had defeated Lord Voldemort, and in effect, nineteen years since he'd had visions of the man or felt anything from his scar. The dream sequence was still vivid in his mind, and to him it felt just as tangible as the bile in his throat. The pain he had felt in his dream had seemed so real…yet now there was only a slight receding tingle on his scar that could barely allude to the previous pressure he had felt on it.

And all he could do was let the ill-contentment roll over him in encompassing waves. His head reeling in mild disorientation as he tried to take stock of what was going on in his mind.

Did this mean that the Dark Lord was back? Did this mean Voldemort's consciousness had somehow resurfaced? Was this going to put his children in danger? Was there even anything to worry about?

Small increments of ragged breathing intertwined evenly with the raging air that seemed to react to his parading state of mind. Unsteadily, his wavering hands slid firmly across the unrelenting cold surface. It had been so long since the lengthy fingers of dread had wound themselves around him. It seemed so foreign to him that the true feeling of being Harry Potter, savior of the wizarding race could be so palpable to him yet again, instead of this simple Harry; husband to Ginny, father of three persona that he had fallen into as of late without any sort of thought otherwise. Now, however, the fears seemed more real than they ever had in the past. In the past he hadn't felt this afraid…in the past only he needed saving as an inexperienced youth with too much thrown on his shoulders…the fear hadn't seemed real. Now, it seemed so much worse.

Letting out a fragmented breath he allowed the cold air to caress his heated skin and waited for the tremors to subside into ghosted shivers. It took several minutes for his breathing to regain an even pattern but even then his body felt somewhat unnatural to him. As the bitter taste of sickness stuck unwanted to his tongue he licked his chapped lips and felt a strong need to distance him self from the cumbersome tang. Stumbling onto unsteady legs, he flushed the toilet and walked briskly over to the sink on gelatin like feet. He had to force himself to keep from wincing once at the reflection he recognized as a tense and unadulterated disillusionment. Looking back into his listless green eyes was a morbid expression laced with dark, ominous lines under his fogy eyes and an almost wraithlike hollowness filled his normally full cheeks, thusly giving him an almost skeletal appeal. His legs couldn't seem to bear his weight long enough; however, and as he registered his face he came stumbling onto the floor efficiently slamming his head against the countertop as he did so. He hissed his pain and his hands were quickly found coiled into the strands of his ebony hair, nursing a small lump that seemed to be beginning to form on the very top of his head. Using one hand to rub against his lump he used the other to reach out and grab the counter to help pull himself to his feet.

Once he was sure he was steady he grabbed one of the cups that stayed beside the sink and filled it with water. He swallowed its content in one fatal gulp being sure to squeeze his eyes shut as his head throbbed with the added pain from his scar and blunt trauma. He was going to have one hell of a headache today. That was for sure. Placing the cup where he had retrieved it from he stuck out his tongue in disgust and let out an involuntary shudder. He was going to need something a lot stronger to get rid of the bloody awful taste from his mouth.

His mind was still abuzz with the possible innuendos attached to the burn of his scar but he tried to distance himself from those thoughts and the unwanted emotions that seemed to come hand in hand with them. Walking swiftly back into his bedroom he snagged a robe to cover himself with, while attempting to shove the thoughts of Voldemort out of his mind. Meanwhile, he snagged his phoenix feather wand off of his bedside table —force of habit perhaps, but also possibly just a paranoia of being caught off guard he'd picked up over the years — before putting it into his pocket and brining his trembling hand up to cling to the front of his robes. Silently he slinked across the room and opened the bedroom door, stealing out of the comfortable abode of his room before he quietly escaped from his sleeping wife.

As he made his way across the moaning house he didn't bother with the lights. He was already too far-gone into the cold breath of dead fear to distract him self long enough with the light switches. Instead, he wandered down the stairs like a lost soul, contemplating his doom in the darkness as he made his way into the kitchen. When he reached the room that was lowly lit with the silvery strands of moonlight that skulked through the opened shutters he swept over to the potions cabinet. Ginny had always been somewhat fearful that the children would feel the need to get into the potions, and potion ingredients among other dangerous items among the household so she made sure to magically lock up any possibly hazardous items as an extra precaution. Reaching for his wand, he quickly spelled the cupboard open and grabbed a potion for his head. Emptying the bitter content of the vial he let out a soft sigh of relief as the pounding in his head minimized to some extent and left the empty vial on the counter. The displeasing tastes in his mouth remained; however, he had an idea how to rid himself of those and also help to lessen his overworked nerves at the same time.

Wandering mutely to the parlor toward the back of the house he let out a withered sigh and moved to flick the light on. This little situation was nothing a glass of good ol' firewhisky couldn't fix. Spelling the liquor cabinet opened he filled a generous amount into his cup. The lukewarm substance slammed against the glass with a slight trickling sound as the clear amber colored fluid mocked him maliciously and his unsteady hand when the cup suddenly overflowed and filled onto the table it rested on. Cursing lowly he set down the bottle of salvation and used his wand to wave away the unneeded amount before slipping the stick back into the folds of his robe. The last thought that crossed his mind before he downed the alcoholic beverage was, 'what am I going to do if Voldemort has really returned?' and then the thick substance burned all the way down his throat melting away his nerves almost immediately. The first glass disappeared in seconds, followed by a second glass as he continued to replenish the cub before him. He reveled in the retreating taste of the bitter potion and vomit finally leaving his mouth and simply enjoined the taste of the alcohol.

Swaggering slowly, he walked across the room and fell gracelessly into his plush red chair and sunk into its cushions deeply. For the first time in a long time he looked small and lithesome against the harsh overbearing and powerful pedestal beneath him. He looked young and tired — completely lost in the confines of his own mind. From an observer's perspective he would have looked like a child trying to fit into his father's clothes, though only managing to look completely ridiculous — he sunk deeper into the cushions — but also looking as though he were trying a little too hard to appear to be brave and strong and stoic in the face of this approaching danger. With his limp limbs slung over the arms of the chair; in one hand a half-filled cup of firewhisky, and in the other the nearly empty bottle: his choices looked grim. His resemblance to a drunkard complete with droopy eyelids and the slight pink tint of intoxication across his high cheekbones was nearly flawless.

What was he going to do?

Distantly, across some crevice of the household a mysterious tick, tick, ticking could be heard and he could only wonder how deeply burrowed into the night he was. The shades on the window were drawn closely together so not even the slightest insinuation could be made as to what hour into the morning it was. Simply, he concluded, it was much too early for him to be awake contemplating the existence of his fallen adversary. Gazing solemnly at his drink he swirled the substance around tactlessly and drew into himself more than he had before.

Thoughts of his perfect life being disrupted with the haunting of his past forced him to bring the cup to his lips. What would he do if his children where to get caught up into his past and be forced to pay for the fault that, to this day, remained unknown to him as to who was the owner. He took a sip. What would he do if his wife were put into that danger again, as well? The thought of finding some protection spell — like his parents had for him — played across the foremost part of his mind. Though if he were to find one, Ginny would be sure to wonder and ask what it was for. Would he be able to tell her of his ominous dream and the dread of the returning pain in his scar? Would she believe him? Or would she simply think that it was all in his head, too caught up in her own little world of this perfect little life they lived together? The thought of her believing that his scar hurt flitted across his mind, somehow he couldn't quite see her believing it. Though she would try her best to accept him and help him, he knew in the back of her mind that she would see it simply as paranoid actions from his past coming back to haunt him. After the death of Voldemort he had spent several years trying to sort out his mind and adapt to existence without the most powerful dark wizard of all time trying to kill him. Paranoia's had of course come with that, and he had always felt the inkling in the back of his mind that the man might one day return. Ginny would more likely see his suspicions of Voldemort returning as one such paranoia.

He couldn't tell her about this.

What about Ron and Hermione? In the back part of his mind he recognized the change in his questions. He had already gone through wondering if Voldemort was really back, to what should he do now that he had accepted the return of Voldemort. Maybe it was due to his intoxicated state or perhaps due simply to the suddenness of the intrusion of his dream and the pain in his scar that accompanied it, but the thought of accepting it was too far into the reaches of his mind to process.

Ron and Hermione had gone through everything with him. He'd led them both into hordes of horrible situations just from his whims and suspicions. They almost always believed in everything that he said no matter the trouble it brought upon them selves. But that was in the past. He had asked nothing of them of that sort since Voldemort's downfall. They were a steady married couple…with two beautiful kids. Could he really trouble his two friends with this information without any other proof other than a nightmare and a headache?

Harry took another sip of the firewhisky shuddering as a spell of dizziness slipped over him.

No.

He couldn't destroy the happiness that they had. He might make a few comments to see if either had seen something suspicious but he would not risk them worrying over something as trivial as this. If Voldemort had indeed found a way to come back: he had yet to come back to full power. The burning in his scar was only slight. It was nothing enough to make people worry about, yet. No. He would bite his tongue and hold his comments. He would hold his head up high and act as though there was nothing amiss. He would be extra cautious and keep all eyes and ears open. Perhaps he would assign a few of the newer Aurors to look into seeing if anything was up with the ex-Death Eaters…or perhaps he would pay a certain Malfoy a little visit. But he would not involve anyone directly, not yet. He would lay low for now. He would wait to see what Voldemort was planning…

**Scene Four of Four**

Harry sighed at his reflection in the mirror. Steam filled the room and swirled about his lean and damp frame causing little shivers to run down his body. He had just gotten out of the shower, and though the water was off the small clouds of vapor stayed around him to keep him company. A golden towel clung low on his waist and that was all. His hair was wet and adhered to his face as rivulets of water dripped down his cheeks. His glasses were charmed not to fog up, as was the mirror though it seemed as though the charm was weaning slightly as towards the edge of the mirror there was the negligible amount traces of an approaching fog. Though this mattered little to Harry who was instead focused on his reflection on the mirror. His eyes trailed down his well-rested expression leering intently, trying to look for any amount of fault that would betray the glamour charms that kept his true state of dishevelment hidden. It had taken a good twenty minutes, but it finally looked as though he was somewhat presentable. He nearly scoffed at the idea of caring about his appearance enough to put on glamour charms. In his mind though, the act was defended as necessary. It was crucial to seem as normal as possible, least someone begin to worry and poke around for information.

After finishing off the bottle of firewhisky a few hours before, he'd had to down a good amount of anti-intoxication potions to get him into the mostly sober state he was in now. Though that hadn't helped the ruddy headache he was experiencing now. He heaved a heavy sigh and finally broke eye contact with him self at the sound of the door wiggling opened. Unconsciously he reached out for his wand and held it tightly as he eyed the door from the reflection in the mirror. He let out a silent hiss of breath and relaxed visibly as he saw Ginny sneaking into the room. He let his grip on his wand drop as she came up to him and embraced him from behind. She rested her head against his shoulders and kissed him softly.

"Good morning, Harry," she spoke drowsily taking time to allow her hands to drop low on his waist.

Harry smiled brightly and turned around into her hold, deterring her hands slightly from their destination. "Good morning, Gin," he whispered lovingly dipping down to peck he fondly on the lips. "Did you sleep well?"

"Mmhumm…" she hummed, voice and mind seeming to be fuzzy with the early morning. "What are you doing up this early? I thought you didn't have to be into work until nine?"

Harry winced internally at his suspicious behavior. He always slept as late as he could, choosing to apparate at the last possible minute without being late. Though being the head of the Auror office helped a great deal if he ever was in fact, a bit late. He debated a moment on telling her the truth that he couldn't sleep, but decided against it for a harmless white lie in its stead. "I'm actually going in a bit early today." Harry smiled as he let his arms fall from the loose hug, instead turning back to face the mirror. He grabbed his toothbrush and after putting on a bit of toothpaste began the task of brushing his teeth.

"Oh?" the curvy woman asked a little too skeptically for Harry's taste with her hands on her bare hips. "And why are you going in early?"

Briefly Harry wondered if the beautiful redhead was angry with him for not discussing the slight alteration in his plans beforehand or if she'd merely had other plans for him this morning. Harry spit out the toothpaste from his mouth and looked at her reflection in the mirror, having to forcefully resist the erg not to look lower at her perfectly exposed full breasts. Her hands were still on her hips and she looked somewhat surly now that her sleepiness had worn of. "I have a bit of paperwork that I wanted to get finished this morning. I've been putting it off for a while, but it is really about time that I finished it up." It wasn't a complete lie, but it wasn't entirely the truth either. He had a bit of paperwork but nothing all that important. Really he just wanted to see if anything was happening with the ex-Death Eaters. He'd decided to make it a priority, because if Voldemort were coming back, one of them would be sure to have some useful information. "Why darling? Is there something wrong with leaving early once in a while?"

The glare that she returned to him stated quite clearly that yes, there was. He assumed that it had something to do with the fact that in all the nineteen years he had worked for the ministry he had never once gone in early for any reason, but made sure not to voice his assumption. "I was just thinking that maybe, since your actually up this morning that we could have a little bit of fun before you left for work…" Ginny trailed off, suggestively leaning against her husband raking her hands down his toned chest stopping just before his trail of hair that ended abruptly at the towel around his waist.

Oh. That's why she was upset. Harry mentally sighed not at all liking the idea of denying himself sex so early in the morning, but he knew that it was imperative that he not get off task. Even now, there was the silent reminder of a low pain in his scar that reminded him so. "Ah, Gin, I'm sorry, I really have to leave soon…" he trailed off hoping that she would get the message. He feared that if she initiated anything anymore than she already had he might have problems saying no.

Ginny sighed heavily hands going up his chest instead of down to give him a tight hug. She kissed the place in-between his shoulder blades before letting he arms fall and breaking the contact. "Fine," she ground out, only slightly irritated with him before slapping his arse and smiling mischievously. "But you owe me when you get home tonight…" and then the water was running again and a new burst of steam entered the bathroom.

Smiling in response to her suggestion Harry went about his daily ritual and left the bathroom a few minutes later to get changed.

By the time he got downstairs Lily was already sitting at the table.

Grudgingly he moved over to the stove and began fiddling with the food debating on what to make for breakfast. "Good morning, Lily, did you sleep well last night?" Harry asked eyeing the young redhead out of the corner of his eye as he attempted to focus on breakfast making. Pancakes sounded really good about now…

Lily, whose head rested against the table in a tired and defeated manner, just grumbled to her self quietly. This seemed a little too out of character for the normally loud and obnoxiously animated girl in the morning to be good, but he didn't comment on this odd act in behavior. As far as her father could tell it seemed as though she were thinking up a coherent response. That or he had done something to initiate her ire, but as far as he could remember he had not. After a while, just when it seemed she as though she wasn't going to answer, "I had a nightmare last night."

Harry, who had not expected a response at all, let alone something as similar to his own last night experience started at this, and fumbled with the milk almost spilling it all over the counter before he caught himself. Then, trying to keep his response as nonchalant as possible, "Oh? What was your nightmare about, honey?" He could feel his pulse beginning to pick up and bit his bottom lip, unintentionally conveying his nerves. Vaguely, he wondered if Lily's and his own nightmare were connected in some way. What if Lily had had a dream similar to his? Though none of his children had ever had a dream about Voldemort before—or at least if they had they had never mentioned it—he was sure that it could be possible if Voldemort had returned. It had never _seemed_ as though his children could be connected to the Dark Lord in any way as none of them were even so much as a parselmouth…not to mention the fact that he himself had lost the snake language with the death of Voldemort. However, in all of the years he'd had his children his connection with Voldemort had been severed…now he wasn't so sure. He made a mental note to himself to try to speak parseltongue again, maybe if he could that would further his evidence of the return of the Dark Lord.

"I got sorted into Slytherin," the girl said simply.

Harry couldn't help it, he laughed out right immediately lightening the mood that had settled between them. Unfortunately, his relief in her comment was completely misread by the little girl.

"What?" she asked defensively, suddenly very irate with her father. "It's not funny! Everyone was really mean to me! And Uncle Ron wouldn't let me see cousin Rose and Hugo ever again!" she shouted as though it were the end of the world.

Chuckling quietly to himself, Harry poured the pancake batter into the pan and tried to concentrate on multi-tasking. He attempted to sooth her discontentment, "Don't worry about it too much. I just told Al a couple of days ago when we dropped him off for Hogwarts that Slytherin isn't that bad of a house. And Uncle Ron will not keep you from seeing Rose and Hugo if you get sorted there anyway. —No matter what he says. Anyway, that's still a good few years from now. I wouldn't worry about it too much if I were you. You'll run out of worry before you even get your letter!" Harry smiled at his youngest daughter and flipped a finished pancake onto a plate before she started up her argument.

"But—!"

"No 'but's' Lily. Now why don't you start setting the table while we wait for your mother? Before she gets down here and makes you do it for me," Harry ordered kindly and watched as his daughter drug her feet over to the counter and started grabbing plates and silverware. She looked right surly now but that didn't stop her from the task at hand. It was amazing how similar his daughter was to Ginny. They were alike right down to their personalities: it was striking.

By the time his little girl had finished setting the table, Harry was already finished with the pancakes and was setting a plate staked high onto the table. Just then, Ginny came into the room and immediately went over to her daughter giving her a kiss on the forehead.

"Good morning, Lily. Did you sleep well last night?" Ginny asked in a motherly fashion.

And then Lily was pouring out her nightmare in vivid detail for her mother to dot on and make it all better. Harry fought the erg to roll his eyes as he sat down for the pleasant breakfast. 'Kids…' he thought silently.

The rest of the meal went without any major hitches and just the pleasant normalcy like any other day. Though Harry had to keep rubbing his scar inconspicuously, which had managed to be more than a little difficult. But he couldn't risk Ginny thinking about what he was doing, she would be sure to notice and know what it meant. Not to mention that his scar seemed to be acting strangely, in the past the pain receded after a connection with Voldemort. Now, instead it seemed to be getting steadily worse. It was possible that it was because their connection had been dead so long that he simply wasn't used to the feeling anymore, but this time it seemed that there was more to it. He could feel it. There was something different about the scar, but as to what exactly, he was unaware.

Then, all at once, the meal was suddenly over and Harry was helping Ginny to pile the dishes into the sink. Lily had already run out of the kitchen to do whatever it was she did in the mornings, when Ginny shot him a petulant glare.

"I found an empty bottle of firewhisky in the parlor this morning. One that wasn't even opened yesterday," Ginny shot accusingly with words, low and seething. Harry could feel his headache get worse by the second. He had really _hoped_ that she wouldn't find out about that until after he left for work. Apparently he hopes were just that and nothing more. Thoughtlessly he cast a quick silencing charm around the room. He was not about to risk Lily hearing one of their arguments over nothing. All couples had their problems, but that was not something for kids to know about.

He didn't bat an eye. "And?" Harry asked incredulously.

"And, I also found several empty potion vials this morning as well," Ginny's temper was beginning to show. Though Harry was missing what the problem was. He always seemed to miss the problem in these little battles. Ginny always seemed to look for something that wasn't there. Even though this time he knew there was.

"And?" Harry asked again.

Ginny looked hurt at the question but only for a moment before her anger took hold once again. "And, I was interested in finding out what it was all about. Did something happen last night that I wasn't aware of?" her voice was strong and steady, but it did nothing to cover up the underlying worry that she was feeling towards him. Harry had to outright ignore it so as not to fall pray to her. He'd already decided to leave her out of the loop on this one and he was not about to change his mind. He would find out what was happening with his scar and possibly Voldemort, and she would never be the wiser if he had anything to say about it.

"And?" Harry quirked a brow, reaching a hand out to play with his hair. "So? I had a drink last night. What else is there to it?" Harry attempted to keep his thoughts as far away from him as he could. He would not yell. He would not loose his temper. He never had to his wife and he'd be damned sure that he never did.

"You had **a** drink last night?" Ginny rolled her eyes condescendingly. "You had the whole bloody bottle! You don't normally drink like that. What aren't you telling me?" again, her words were steady but her emotions were crumbling. She was really worried that something had happened and she wanted to help him though it.

Harry sighed heavily but would not meet her gaze. That would be the end of him. It always was. "Fine," Harry concluded shortly. "So I had a _couple_ of drinks last night. But there isn't anything else to it. The vials were just something to help with being pissed."

Ginny rolled her eyes that looked like glass from unshed tears, "Oh, so there isn't anything to it? You get pissed for not bloody reason and you expect me to be okay with that? Harry, what's wrong? Talk to me! I only want to help."

It was Harry's turn to roll his eyes and he snorted at that. He had really not wanted this conversation so early in the morning. His headache was back full throttle and there was going to be no getting rid of that. "I don't need help when there isn't anything wrong," he retorted tersely. "If your worried I'm going to get a drinking problem, don't. I won't do it again. Now, I need to get to work. I'm going to be late. I'll see you tonight. I'll owl you if I'm going to be late." Harry leaned down and placed a pensive kiss on her cheek before apparating to the ministry without another word.

**End Prologue**

_To be continued…_

**Nasyki**: God's I hate HPGW. I don't know how I am going to stand it enough to get to the LVHP stuff, but I'll have to manage. That bathroom scene nearly killed me and they didn't DO anything. I'll keep it to a minimal for both of our sanity's. I'm trying to keep this fic as cannon as I can, so bear with me. The LVHP will be a little scarce in the beginning but it will come soon enough. Be patient, my lovely.

Also, I am very sorry for the run-on sentences, and comma splices. :3 I am aware of them, I am too lazy to fix them — and don't have a beta. Ignore them.


	2. Lament

**Nasyki:** Sorry, this is a fault by me. I forgot that Rowling makes Harry lose the ability to speak parseltongue following the death of Voldemort. I had a comment in the previous chapter alluding to the fact that he may still have it. He does NOT. (Currently. =P) I'm going by all of the information J.K. Rowling released after DH. This fanfiction will be as accurate as I can make it. The last chapter has been edited so it is clearer on that subject. Again, I am sorry for the inaccuracy.

**Dust to Dust**

By: Nasyki Ikysan

Chapter 2 (_Lament_)

**Scene One of Three**

The air was alight with electricity, warm and invigorating. As people began their morning rounds there was a clear sense of determination. People were rushing to finish the things that had needed to be done yesterday. It was in the thick smell of coffee, aftershave, clean soap, and freshly sprayed perfumes — that adorned each approaching witch and wizard — that added to the calmness and recapitulationof all days prior. From each new smell, it seemed, a new body would enter the Ministry of Magic; a mad rush of people all heading to his or her conflicting designated position. Every inch of the entrance was occupied for a select amount of time as people apparated and flooed in or made use of the numerous other means of entrance into the building. Soon, the still crowd pushed forward as the morning buzz continued and people made way to their destinations. Magic, was as thick as the energy in the air, alongside the apparent dwindling sleepiness that encased all with the dim glower of the still waking figures. The world turned over a new leaf with the approaching sounds of day. Loud, chattering people went about their business and conveyed morning greetings with keen smiles and a simple nod of their head, though the noise and all other noise that accompanied it was amplified by the echo of greatness that occupied the building.

And what was normally considered the usual bout of pleasantries was, in all effect today, not nearly as pleasant as one would like to think. The hum of morning energies and smells greeted the tall man with no amount of difficulty, but instead of bringing a usual smile onto tainted lips; these things only managed a failed attempt. The crowds set his nerves on fire and left him with spontaneous, though not entirely noticeable, twitches. His head ached: his mood was sour. His wife was angry, and ultimately his life was laced with a total amount of imminent misfortunate events. This cheeriness was much too cheery. Even as he walked down the well-traveled halls greeted with his hefty amount of "Hello, Mr. Potter sir's" and bundle of "Good morning, Mr. Potter" the only response he could manage was a feeble smile that turned out more as a grimace than anything else. There was no 'Good morning' today, and he most certainly didn't feel like greeting anyone, just yet. And though this 'good morning' that everyone else seemed so keen on speaking of and sharing graciously with one another; it seemed apparent, if to no one else, than so obviously to this Harry James Potter that he had been completely left out of the loop. Or at least, that was what he thought to himself as the ominous cloud of metaphorical difficulties and dour moods hovered over his head raining nasty remarks on his silent tongue as each crack of thunder decimated what could have been a happy thought. The cloud seemed dead-set to stay in his company for the rest of the morning instead of moving on to the next unlucky sap that would cross his path. He almost had the grace to feel bad for who ever it would be that would have to spend the day in his company, almost. Another second barely passed as the invisible cloud sapped that sympathetic though from his mind. No, his morning was not going well, indeed.

Stifling a deep sigh, Harry moved down the hall glumly reaching his department without too many problems. It was a good thing that he had worked here for nineteen years. As it seemed the now deemed "man-who-lived" had outlasted his newness as the unfriendly stares of shock and open adoration had drifted away from his career over the years, and only returned whenever he left the house to go anywhere else in the wizarding world. Now, it was only the occasional new employee that stopped and stared owlishly. No, people at the Ministry of Magic were no longer tripping over them selves clumsily to fall out of their offices to see and stare at him like he was on display. He simply experienced the usual morning greetings sans the occurrence of anything truly hallway blocking. And for that he was eternally grateful every moment of the working day. It gave him a least one more sanctuary besides his home…

As soon as he entered the Auror Department he was completely emerged in the buzz of noise that was the usual workday practices. Paper airplanes flying every which way as witches and wizards huddled about desks doing their paperwork sloppily. Like most mornings, they seemed more intent on the morning gossip than noticing that their boss had just entered the room. However, it was far too obvious to the head of the Auror Department that he was in no mood to condescendingly chastise his workers and force them to get back to work. No, today felt like a day that he would rather be doing anything else besides work, as well. So he would let them off easy this time and deal with poor working habits tomorrow. The much more fetching thought of Voldemort's ultimate return, his argument with Ginny, and his overbearingly painful headache would remain in his top margin on his "to-do" list, though not necessarily in that order. Instead of shooting about pointless greetings, he trudged across the open area and made way to his refuge that was his lonely office. He didn't make it very far before reaching eyes in the room found him and efficiently foiled his plans.

There was a sudden change in the atmosphere. Although it was only slight, it was a difference that was easily picked up by Harry, as the change seemed to follow him wherever he went with only minor alterations depending on the particular situation. Here, it wasn't anything all that important, just a sudden stillness in the air; something more usually referred to as recognition followed by determination and an admirable amount of focus. Then, there was a disbandment of the groups that had gathered and the light friendly chatter became heavy with business. Vaguely the through played across the forefront of his mind if Dumbledore had experienced similar changes in attitude around him…the answer hit him simultaneously as a blatant yes that brought a smile nearly to his eyes before a similar question popped into mind about Voldemort, which was also a yes, and the smile left him nearly as fast as it had flickered onto him. Harry let his eyes scan the crowd and said nothing. He wasn't going to say anything to them in the first place but it appeared he wouldn't have to anyway. Somewhat curious, Harry questioned the action of the change in demeanor of his workers as one made out of fear or reverence but quickly dispelled it again, as it brought up his previous thoughts of Dumbledore and Voldemort: something that he very much did not wish to consider.

It was a little less than halfway through his journey that a young witch with brilliant brown eyes and light brown hair stopped him. She was somewhat of a short woman with a full build and a pleasant smile, and even though there was a slight familiarity with her face shape there wasn't any real recognition as to whom, exactly, she was. Though that thought didn't bother Harry in the slightest as there were quite a number of people in his department that he couldn't attach a name to. He concluded, albeit somewhat dryly in his bitter mood, that she must simply be new.

"Good morning, Mister Potter," the witch greeted brightly. To which he had to physically restrain his retort at the mention of another 'good morning,' though he had managed, somehow.

It was clear from this exchange to anyone willing to pay attention that his mood had not improved. And though he attempted to keep the aversion out of his voice, this he didn't manage as well as he possibly could have, "Good morning."

The testiness did not seem to deter the young woman's good spirits…though it was not clear if the woman's tactlessness rooted from simply not caring or not noticing. Either way it didn't matter much, as she continued without a bat of an eyelid. "We just got an owl in a few minutes ago. It's addressed to you from a George Weasley." The short woman held out an envelope addressed to him. Too curious was Harry, wondering why George would be sending him an owl to his office rather than his home that he did not detect the one vital thing that was absent from the outside of the sealed envelope: the sender's name.

He flicked the letter opened in his hand before returning his gaze to meet hers. Giving a stiff nod he thanked her and watched as she walked off merrily. He caught an odd gleam in her eye just as she moved out of sight. Strangely, the thought as to weather or not the woman had read his mail slipped into his stray thoughts—but he pushed it away as one of his reoccurring paranoia. Then another strange thought hit him as to why the owl hadn't just left his letter on his desk— He was suddenly grabbed on the shoulder and the thought fled him instantly. Though the action would have normally surprised him enough to jump at the intrusion, he did the opposite and visibly relaxed into his friend's hold.

"Mornin' Harry," a familiar redhead greeted loosening his grip on Harry's shoulder completely.

Harry turned around to look at is best friend, forced to look up to meet the lanky man's eyes. He smiled his trademarked crooked grin and felt for the fist time all morning the relaxing of his nerves and the taming of his monstrous mood. "Morning Ron."

"So what have you got there?" Ron asked already intently eyeing the letter in his hand. It seemed as though he had watched Harry's exchange with the young witch and had held off on his greeting until after she had left.

Harry merely gave a lackluster response with a simple shrug of his shoulder. He opened and skimmed the letter, following over the familiar scrawl before returning to meet Ron's eyes. Shoving the letter into his cloak pocket he continued walking towards his office with Ron, hot on his heels. When Ron looked at him expectantly he simply gave another shrug of his shoulders. "It's a letter from the twin—" Harry faltered slightly on the word 'twins' but recovered quickly. It seemed to be something everyone had done since the end of the war when they accidentally stumbled on some word or memory that had reminded them of some loved one that they had lost. Now, however, he had seemed to make the transition nearly unnoticeable. "Just a little update because I haven't talked to him in so long. He was telling me how Angelina, and Fred and Roxanne are doing. And how well the business is doing. I haven't visited in a while so he hasn't had a chance to update me on my 'investment' though I do get letters from Gringotts about once a month on how much gold he deposits. I told him to stop doing that years ago but it seems that when he started the business with Fred they made some agreement and he wont stop giving me some percentage of the profit."

Ron, who had worked at _Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes_ for a short time, was well aware of the monthly transactions to Harry and merely nodded. He followed Harry into his messy, yet homely office falling into one of the comfy chairs in front of the desk easily. Harry mentally cringed at the tall pile of documents that adorned his desk and set to work flipping through them as Ron spoke.

"So has George gotten over his inventors block?" Ron asked lightly snagging a quill off of Harry's desk to leisurely fiddle with.

Harry grimaced at the topic. Since Fred's death, George had been having quite a number of problems coming up with any _good_ new ideas. _Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes _had been closed for several months after his death. When he had finally opened up shop again it had still taken a number of years for George to even attempt any new experiments. Though he tried regularly to get some ideas going, he only invented a handful of things before he had married Angelina. That's when he stopped all together. It wasn't until Fred was born that he started messing with things again and even then he stopped shortly thereafter. He hadn't started to tinker again until Roxanne was born. Though he hadn't tried anything recently, the last time Harry had talked to Angelina she had said he was still trying.

Shrugging, he continued to read through his paperwork. He didn't fell like answering the question. After a few seconds of silence Ron seemed to understand this and felt he got his answer without one. He changed the topic. "So Hermione, Hugo, and I are coming over for dinner tonight…I think Hermione already dropped Hugo off with Ginny but she might be running a little late," Harry nodded and gave a slight wince at the mention of Ginny. It seemed Ron was doing a very good job a mentioning things he didn't really feel like talking about today. Joy. Ron, however, seemed to perk up at this. Apparently having noticed the wince. He eyed Harry curiously. "Did something happen with Ginny?" his voice was lighted and an attempt at nonchalance, though he seemed obviously inquisitive.

Harry sighed, knowing that even if Ron had sounded innocent enough if he left it at that Ron would turn probing shortly enough. Morbidly Harry answered noncommittally, "A fight," and left it at that.

Ron winced as well, making a rather goofy looking "oh" expression at the same time. He knew very well of all the arguments that Harry and Ginny seemed so keen on engaging themselves in since their marriage some twelve odd years earlier. Harry wondered briefly if it was just Ginny and him that had such problems…Ron and Hermione never seemed to complain all that much about their relationship…but he pushed it off as his imagination. "So what did you do this time?"

Harry almost laughed out loud at several retorts that floated through his mind but he managed a somewhat withheld snigger in its stead. "I got into the liquor cabinet," Harry said jokingly.

Ron just lifted an eyebrow with a rather contemplative look on his face. Thinking he'd missed the joke he asked rather skeptically, "And?"

Harry smiled, "And nothing. I got into the liquor cabinet."

Ron shook his head of the distorted expression. "Well, what else? Did you clean it out or something?"

Harry snorted and shook his head in response, "no, nothing like that. I just had a bottle of firewhiskey. That's all."

"And?" Ron repeated a little too disbelievingly.

"And what?" Harry asked loosing some of his chortle from his voice.

"And you got in a fight over _that_?" Ron asked gob-smacked. "But you don't normally have a problem with alcohol. What's wrong with a bloke having a drink every now and again? What got her so upset by something like that?"

Harry shrugged, trying not to think too much into that matter as he attempted to concentrate more on the documents in front of him, the ones that he was endeavoring to sign. It wouldn't do well to dwell on the confusion in his friend's voice. "Don't know," he finally concluded suddenly, after finishing skimming the document that he was reading and signing an illegible signature at the bottom. "Maybe that's it. Maybe it's because I don't normally drink very much that it bothers her. Since it's out of character, maybe she thought that there was something wrong."

There was a certain flash in Ron's eyes that spoke volumes at the revelation; however, it dissipated before Harry's eyes met his. Instead it was replaced with sheer disbelief, "Mate, are you rationalizing the way a girl thinks?" His expression clearly read insanity on Harry's part. As though he had sprouted another head, or perhaps he had some Gillyweed coming out of his ears.

Harry snorted at the image, and outright laughed at Ron's comment, though he tried to stifle it as he continued onto another report that he had to review. However, the elation was short-lived as the moment passed and settled into an almost uncomfortable seriousness.

"But that is a legitimate concern on Gin's part. Is there something wrong? You don't normally make it a point to drink at all. Let alone get completely shit-faced. Blimey, I think I've only seen it myself once." Ron's gaze was pricing, and even though Harry did not raise his eyes to see it, he could still feel it boring into the top of his head as he leaned over his documents for whatever solace he could wring from them.

Harry shifted, quite uncomfortably under the deadest gaze and attempted to feign annoyance as he visibly rolled his eyes. The tingling of his scar and headache that had been pushed to the back of his mind from the presence of his best friend, now resurfaced; the sensation almost blinding in its intensity. He shifted his glasses farther up his nose and smiled crookedly, "How is Rose doing? Have you gotten any letters from her since she went to Hogwarts?"

Ron held his gaze at the topic change, searing blue eyes holding intently into his green ones searching for answers. A lot like Dumbledore had used to do except a lot more intense and imploring instead of kind and curious. He couldn't seem to block out the gaze until Ron seemed to move on, accepting the adjusted subject. Weather it was because of something he had read in Harry's eyes or simply because he had agreed with himself to pick up the topic later, Harry was unsure. He was no less grateful for the delay in questioning, nevertheless. He didn't know how long he would be able to keep his secrets; well, _secret_ from his closest Auror.

"Yeah, we've got a good three letters from her so far. She was really excited when Al got sorted into Gryffindor. Almost as excited as when she did herself. Seems Scorpius Malfoy—" Ron said the name banefully, "has become rather fond of Al…though she won't specify in what way."

Harry frowned at this response. It made him worry about his youngest son. Not that he was worried about him possibly befriending a Malfoy—Harry himself had long since gotten over that barrier, in fact he had helped the entire Malfoy family from being put into Azkaban after the war—Ron just didn't know how to disperse the Malfoy-Weasley feud. No matter what Hermione or himself tried to say otherwise. No, what was worrying him was that he had sent several letters to Al since the beginning of the week. Since he'd let his kids get on the Hogwarts Express at platform 9 ¾ he had yet to get one back. James hadn't even sent him so much as a note, now that he thought about it. And this was very worrisome.

"Hey Ron…" Harry murmured slowly still mulling over what could possibly be wrong with his kids enough so they wouldn't owl him a million times the first week of school. "Next time you send a letter to Rose can you tell her to tell Al and James that they need to owl me? They haven't responded to any of the letters that I've sent them…"

Ron smiled brightly and nodded. "Sure thing, Harry. I'll make sure my little Rosie gets right to it. She listens to everything daddy says," he bragged a little too smugly.

Harry rolled his eyes disbelievingly, knowing very well that it was very much the other way around. That particular little girl had Ron completely wrapped around her finger and could get anything she wanted from him, if she so much as asked. Harry made no comment on this. Instead, a simple "thank you" sufficed and he went back to multitasking, as his pile of paperwork didn't seem to be getting any smaller. Ron seemed to notice this as well as he eyed the stack of papers and seemed to remember he had one of his own on his desk—one that was probably growing by the minute—and would need to be started soon unless he wanted to get behind: again. "Well, it's getting pretty late and I really should be heading back to work…otherwise my _horrible_ boss is going to get on my case again."

Harry didn't bother looking up from his paperwork as he nodded, having to forcibly resist the urge to roll his eyes at being called a _'horrible_ boss' by someone he constantly bent the rules for. He couldn't, however, stifle his snort. "Maybe your 'horrible boss' wouldn't have to lecture you if you could get your paperwork in on time. But I wouldn't worry too much about him today; I've heard he's not having the greatest of days. So he couldn't really give a flying fuck if his Aurors were actually working today."

It was Ron's turn to stifle a snigger as he made his way to exit the office. "Ohhh…I'll just have to keep that in mind today when I'm goofing off, then." Ron threw him one last smile, "See ya' later Harry." And then he was off. And with him, Harry's good mood seemed to dissipate slightly. Though he was nowhere near the sour mood that he had been in earlier.

It was probably just the forgotten headache suddenly becoming not quite so forgotten that made it a bit more difficult to concentrate. Or at least, it made it a hell of a lot more difficult to concentrate than it had been with Ron present in the room. Letting out a withering sigh he took out a blank sheet of parchment and began writing a note to his secretary detailing that he wanted a meeting with one Draco Malfoy as soon as possible, and that he wanted no less that 10 of the newest Aurors to report to his office by the end of the work day. Folding the parchment magically into an airplane he sent the plane on its way and went back to half-reading the reports on his desk.

He would fist and foremost find out the movement of the Death Eaters and see if there was any suspicious behavior…that would ultimately tell him who was going to be involved in the resurrection of the Dark Lord. If he hadn't been resurrected already.

**Scene Two of Three**

Harry glanced idly at his paperwork attempting — with as much effort as he could muster — to read through and passed the single line in the document that he had been looking at for the past thirty some odd minutes. He sighed deeply as he ran his tense fingers absentmindedly through his jet-black hair. His mind kept wandering, and he hadn't been able to manage to focus on any kind of work related subject since Ron had left. It seemed he was much too deeply concerned about the possibilities of Voldemort's impending return and most importantly the underlying possibilities of how in Merlin's name Voldemort had managed it _this time_—considering all of his Horcruxes were destroyed. How indeed. It was a dilemma that had continued to presser him to fulfill the erg—that sounded strangely Hermione-like—to run to the library to look for the possibilities. Though if he allowed himself to tell either Ron or Hermione he was sure that he would have had a stronger erg to ask the girl directly. Though even if he could ask, he was almost entirely positive that he wouldn't be able to get a full answer out of the bushy-haired adult. Over the years, the woman had become more dead set on forcing both Ron and himself to do their own studying. Since she was the only one that had returned to Hogwarts to finish her 7th year, she somehow felt obligated to make them find out everything for themselves and not allow them any easy answers. Harry groaned as he realized that he's lost his place in the document he'd been reading. Taking two sturdy fists he slammed his hands into the table causing his open bottle of ink to spill all over said document. Cursing lowly he spelled the content away and finally rested his head into his hands leaning against his desk.

The once called 'golden trio' had already discussed it in-depth on several occasions. They had looked through dozens of books. Nothing seemed at all plausible – or possible for that matter for another resurrection of that particular Dark Lord. Yet, he knew that he couldn't deny the connections between himself and the other man. Though the scar felt dead of his presence…the pain had been undeniable in its cause.

Harry let out a frustrated sigh as he reviewed some of the countless ways that he and his friends had gone over that could have possibly brought back the dark wizard. It had to have been over 10 years since one of them had brought up the resurrection of Voldemort, so there could have been new magical discoveries that they hadn't considered that hadn't been possible in the past…it had been so long…someone could have discovered a new way to bring him back. It was possible. Harry distractedly chewed on the nip of his quill…not caring nor noticing for that matter that the remnants of the ink on the pen were slowly turning his tongue black. This was not going to be a very productive day…that was for sure. He was so engrossed in thought that he didn't even notice as someone quietly stole into his office.

"Ehem…"

Harry shot out of his thoughts and nearly jumped out of his skin. His was already out of his chair with his hand tightly grasped on his wand before he had a moment to recognize who it was exactly that had come into his office. He nearly blushed in embarrassment at his jumpiness when he saw whom it was.

"Minister?" he recovered suddenly. "What on earth are you doing here?"

Kingsley Shacklebolt looked evenly across the room at Harry, completely ignoring his dishevelment. "I sent a note a couple of days ago about having lunch with you today. It had been such a long time that we have been in touch, I thought it might be a good idea to at least make an effort to see how you've been doing," the man smiled tiredly. Explaining in a simple manner when Harry was slow on the take of the situation.

"Oh?" Harry asked plainly, more out of reflex than actual recognition. "…Oh. Oh! That's right——Sorry, it completely slipped my mind!" When his eyes lit up suddenly as realization sunk in, the man shuffled the papers he had been failing to read on his desk: another failed attempt to get everything reorganized. He felt like hitting himself for forgetting something like that. His mind was in a poor state of order, one that apparently reflected rather nicely to the condition that his desk was in currently. It was really unfortunate that he wasn't able to concentrate on anything today. Though Harry's momentary confusion didn't last long, and he quickly gathered his wits. Once he had, he smiled rather brightly at Kingsley, with a bit of a farced falsetto he continued unabated, "I was so caught up in what I was doing I didn't realize what time it was." Though now that he thought about it, that among other things was something he was still a little bit clueless on.

For a moment, it appeared that Kingsley was going to make a comment. Harry could see it very clearly in the way he pursed his lips together just slightly, almost frowning, as a tangle of threads seemed to sort though his mind. It was at that point that Harry realized that Kingsley was probably very keen on how distracted he had been. And how it had probably seemed that he was much more distracted _away_ from his work than assiduously complacent within it. A brief skeptical mien slipped by his features, and it was then that Harry knew he had to act. As soon as Kingsley made a move to open his mouth, Harry made an intermittent action.

It was bad enough that he had been caught, red handed, no less by the minister himself — _daydreaming_ — when he should have been working. He really didn't want the man to say it out loud and make it that much more apparent that he wasn't doing what he was suppose to. Kingsley would probably poke fun at him for it, so oh no, Harry would have to change that. "Speaking of which," Harry started, efficiently snapping the strings of thought that had grasped Kingsley, "What time is it, anyway?" Harry nearly commended himself for his uncanny ability to thwart conversations from straying into subjects that he didn't want to go into. At least Kingsley didn't notice what he was doing.

"Ah…" Kingsley looked around trying to get the answer from the walls. "It's nearly noon. I think it's 11:40 something, though I am not entirely sure." His eyes continued to scan the walls stopping suddenly at a rather large framed picture that had been taken at Hogwarts just after Voldemort's final fall. Bright smiles of triumph looked back, with crying and defeated eyes. "It's normally rather difficult for me to get away for lunch, so I usually sneak away the first second I have the chance. Earlier is always better than later, as it also means you can avoid some of the lunch crowd…I can't normally be gone fore a half an hour before someone starts to miss me." Kingsley sighed deeply, and began to rub his temples soothingly as though to chase away those thoughts.

Harry almost laughed at the comment, it was very apparent how much everyone needed the minister. It seemed, as soon a he left a room the world come to end. Harry had always found it amusing how once Kingsley became minister, chaos always seemed to follow in his wake. Unless, of course, Tonks's clumsiness counted prior to her death, which Harry wasn't completely sure if it did (he'd never see Tonks's clumsiness cause the same destruction as some of the other ministry officials). It seemed that everyone had become so reliant on Kingsley — since he became minister — that they were all at a loss without him: and that could be a good thing or a bad thing, either way it was somewhat amusing. However, Harry's amusement was cut short as he noticed for the first time that the minister was looking quite a bit worn-out.

The years that had come and gone had always been kind to the man. He was still the strong and ambitious looking man he had been many years ago, though a ghost of gray was beginning to breathe into the edges of his dark hair. He was still tall, and toned with his commanding aura. There was, of course, a lingering presence of some wrinkles around his eyes and mouth that alluded to his climbing age; however, they were hardly noticeable. Or at least, the last time Harry had seen the man they had been. Now the wrinkles seemed deeply etched into his skin, though it was notable that they were deep from stress rather than age. His normally full and flush cheeks looked almost hollow and gray. And these were only some of many of the reasons the man looked rundown. He looked…downtrodden? No, maybe not downtrodden but flat out withered, yes. With noticeable circles under his eyes and a terse atmosphere about him, Harry truly hoped he was the only one that had noticed. The ministry was still in a reformation of sorts; a minister in a withered state would be doomed.

Harry pursed his lips together in scrutiny but he couldn't allow himself the disgrace long. Instead he smiled and laughed, "That's just one of the may perks of being the minister, I suppose," Harry joked through his teeth. If the minister was showing these kinds of signs of wear, something was dubiously wrong. Kingsley was such a strong man. Not infallible, but sturdy and difficult to tire. He had been the minister for far too many years to simply get tired of day-to-day work. No, something big must have been going on to make these signs of stress show so clearly, and that worried Harry a great deal.

Kingsley smiled a deflated half-hearted upward turn of his lips and agreed. Watching patiently as Harry made sure that he had everything that he needed before joining him at the door.

"So do you have an idea of where we're going to eat?" Harry asked only somewhat curiously, and as nonchalant as he could. It felt like forever since the last time he had eaten out. Since the Quidditch season had ended, Ginny didn't have much to do for her job with the Daily Prophet and the woman constantly insisted on making dinner every night, he also apparated home for lunch often because it was easier than going out to eat. Going out to a restaurant actually sounded really good right now. It would distract his mind, he was sure.

Kingsley seemed to think a moment as he led Harry to the ministry entrance and over to the fireplaces. "I know this really good French place that just opened in Diagon Alley not too long ago…" he finally suggested.

Harry didn't even have to think about it before he answered. He didn't really have a preference one way or another. "Sure, I don't see why not."

Kingsley took a handful of floo powder and in a burst of flame was gone, followed shortly after by one Harry Potter. It was instantaneous that the two had entered Diagon Alley, and was in no time at all that the two were sitting comfortably at a quaint little restaurant and ordering their lunches.

"So, how has the Auror Department been treating you lately, Harry?" Kingsley questioned idly, sipping at his drink and watching thoughtlessly as their menus vanished.

Harry shrugged slightly. He rested an elbow against the table and leaned his face comfortably into his hand scanning through the building thoughtfully, meanwhile watching the restaurant fill up with its usual amount of lunch guests. "Well, I guess. We just got a rather large batch of fresh Aurors not that long ago. We probably got so many because they think there isn't that much to do in our department in a time of peace. They don't have to worry about chasing down any dangerous dark wizards, just stay ones. It is interesting what peace does to people.

"Other than that Martha, my old secretary retired, and I got a new one. She likes to keep to herself though. Always keeps to he office, and her door closed. She seems to get everything done well enough, I just send her a plane if I need something…" Harry rambled on for a bit. Comforted by the casual conversation and the calm that seemed to radiate from the building. He thought for a moment before continuing, "I think that's just about it. We've all been as busy as it can get without having a Dark Lord running rampant," he concluded ironically.

Kingsley laughed at this, however, remembering very distinctively how busy the Auror Department was during and several years following the war. It had never stopped: constantly bringing in rogue Death Eaters, and just attempting (and usually failing) at keeping the paperwork that accompanied everything up-to-date. When Harry had first joined the Auror team and was the little peon that he was — getting all the nasty jobs and a butt load of paperwork — he had actually made many comments to Kingsley about just how much he appreciated the constant work: which wasn't very much.

Harry smiled at Kingsley and continued, "Besides that, I think I've just been getting the short end of the wand. Going though all my paperwork, and everyone else's day in and out…approving and rejecting other Aurors requests among other things. I almost wish there was some Dark Wizard at work so that I could at least get out of my office!" Harry spoke jeeringly, not at all serious and very well aware of the irony as he thought about Voldemort fleetingly.

So much for keeping him distracted, with all of these innuendos he was making he was surprised that Kingsley hadn't come out and said something about Harry's fascination with dark lords today. He wondered vaguely if he should bring up his concerns with Kingsley—but pushed it away quickly. Evidence. He needed to prove his suspicions first. Though he was sure Kingsley would believe him and look into it, he still had a bitter taste of the last time that he had yelled "Voldemort!" He had met the guy and no one believed him. Proof first. Confirm his fears and then act accordingly.

"What about you, _Mister_ Minister?" Harry said mockingly, watching as the food appeared on his plate magically—another reason why he loved to eat out. That and he didn't have to do the dishes afterward. "Have you gotten bored of commanding the wizarding race yet?"

Kingsley literally rolled his eyes at Harry's awful attempt at mocking him, but smiled at the inside joke just the same. He immediately fell into his flawless role, "As though I would ever grow bored of so many people calling out 'Minister! Minister!'—" he changed his voice slightly to say 'minister.' Harry mused; he was probably mimicking one of his excessively needy underlings. "—with the most miniscule fault they can find, begging for me to fix it when there are so much bigger things going on in the Wizarding World to be concerned with," Kingsley trailed off suddenly. As though he were underlying some bigger thing though his words. He continued to eat his lunch solicitously.

Harry chuckled lightly, glad for not the first time that Kingsley and himself had fallen into the odd friendship that they had over the years. He thought of all the things that he owed the minister, and some of the things vise versa. He had always used to think that the man was almost unapproachable for this easygoing kind of casual chatter. It was a comforting friendship that they shared, of that he was sure. Though he was growing increasingly tempted to ask about the man's tired demeanor and these 'bigger' problems that the ministry had to deal with. But he didn't want to ruin the tranquility of the moment. He had had enough 'impending doom' thoughts for one day. He really didn't need any more to deal with.

Taking another bite of his lunch, Harry considered his options, "So, how has the corruption been in the ministry?"

Kingsley let out a defeated sigh and set his fork down for a moment taking some time to survey the room. It seemed that he, too, hadn't wanted to spoil the calm. Apparently, Harry had picked a poor direction to take conversation. He could feel a heaviness settle tangibly around them. "It's coming as well as could be expected, I suppose. I wish it were as easy as what you did to help with at Hogwarts…with trying to change the division and misconceptions of the different houses…however, it's just not that easy." Kingsley began rubbing at his temples again, letting out a deep breath. "I had really hoped that everything would be better, now. I had hoped that everything would be fixed at this point in time…just weeding though all the corruption is difficult. But finding where it comes from is nearly impossible. It looks as though it is almost set into the very foundation of the Ministry of Magic."

Kingsley reflected how Harry felt at that moment. Distraught, frustrated and tired of the ongoing battle of rectifying the wrong. Harry shook his head of his disappointment. It was the answer that he had expected when he asked the question; even if it wasn't necessarily the one he was looking for.

"I suppose it will take years, still, to get where we need to be. Little steps at a time is the best we can hope for. It almost makes you wish that the Ministry of Magic had been destroyed." Harry looked down at his plate. "That way, we could have had a chance to rebuild everything from scratch…instead of this weeding though the clutter and attempting to salvage what isn't completely unsalvageable." Harry frowned, and looked up at Kingsley, catching an imploring gaze that was shot directly into him. He shivered and then added, albeit late, "Almost," before returning to his neglected food.

Kingsley shook his head but didn't specify if it was because he disagreed with the sentiment or if he was trying to shake the thought itself away. No matter what the minister thought, it would have been severely detrimental to his career if he started saying things like Harry did. Kingsley was a politician now, after all. Instead of responding at all, the minister continued to eat his lunch, and Harry followed his example.

After a moment of silence Kingsley said, "So I hear that you're going to visit Mister Malfoy sometime this week?" It wasn't a query.

Harry frowned with this new particular line of questions. He was very much surprised, as well as weary that someone would find out about his request meeting with Malfoy…even if it was the minister to be the one to find out. Somehow, he thought that that should actually make him more suspicious. After all, he himself had only made the decision only a couple of hours ago. The fact that the minister knew was in itself suspicious; it was even more so since the only person he had mentioned it to thus far was his secretary. Word of mouth only travels so fast, and it was hard to believe that his secluded new secretary had a big mouth…perhaps he would have a new one by the end of the week.

When Harry had helped to clear the Malfoy name, he'd had to call in quite a number of favors. As, at the time, he still had very little power within the ministry, even with being the boy-who-lived. He had to even ask Kingsley himself to step in a little before the dark family could get a full pardon…but it seemed as though Kingsley was still apprehensive about the family of ex-Death Eaters, for whatever reason. Harry wondered, was it really that suspicious that he was calling on Draco? Or was it suspicious because it had been so long since he had called on the old Slytherin, and took an opportunity to do so now? But then, was there even any real significance in now at all? It definitely wasn't suspicious that he was the one out of the two to be contacting the other. Even if he had saved Draco and his family's hide he was still a Slytherin, and a Malfoy at heart. And calling on a Gryffindor golden boy, no matter the reason was very un-Malfoy-ish. Harry himself, would have been suspicious if Draco contacted him out of the blue one day…but it wasn't weird that he would be, right? The more his mind began to wander on what was and what was not suspicious, the more he concluded that there wasn't anything strange about the action. So what if he was going to get back in touch with Malfoy?

"Yeah," he admitted finally. As though he hadn't gone over an entire litany of reasons and ways as to how he should answer the question. "I haven't talked to him in over a year. I thought it was time to rub it in his face that he was saved by a Gryffindor, again." Harry laughed at the thought of Draco's irritated face whenever he brought up that smug little fact. Which was often. Harry took a sip of his drink and when he sat it back down onto the table, it quickly replenished itself.

"Why did you even bother helping the Malfoys?" the minister wondered allowed. Harry speculated if Kingsley himself had any problems with the Malfoys. "It always seemed unexpected. From what I have heard, you and the Malfoys never got along, and then after the war you became so adamant about keeping them out of Azkaban," he looked up trying to remember what it had been like all of those years ago. "What happened?" he asked inquisitively.

Harry was surprised to say the least, he had never really taken the time to explain how he had come to accept the Malfoys, he realized. He supposed it must have looked very peculiar to the rest of the world that he had one day — apparently quite spontaneously — became friends with the family. Well, as close to friends as could be expected of the Malfoys and himself. It must have been comical at how random the change must have seemed. He remembered, very clearly that Lucius Malfoy had been very against the help. Maybe that was one of the reasons that everyone seemed to against him helping in the first thing, maybe they had thought someone had put a spell on him…or maybe they thought he had gone completely nutters. It would certainly explain why he had had to pull so many strings…well, that might have also been because Lucius was the right hand man to Voldemort; that probably contributed somewhat as well. Now that he thought about it though, he really didn't want to get into the details of why he did it. There were actually dozens of reasons why he wanted the family spared. Reasons from his sixth year, and what would have been his seventh, and he still found more reasons to this day. Besides, he almost wanted to keep it a secret so that he and Draco could share the joke as everyone else that knew them during their Hogwarts years could scratch their heads in confusion.

Finally, Harry shrugged, "They were the victims," he answered innocently. It was the truth in a sense, and really the most basic of answers, be he didn't want to elaborate. So he simply left it at that.

Kingsley eyed him curiously, but didn't call him out to explain…as though he knew that Harry wouldn't disclose any more information even if he pried, which he wouldn't.

Harry let a secret smile brace his lips as he let out a deep breath. This felt really good to be out having lunch with an old friend. He didn't need to think about his problems. There was no fight with Ginny, there were no worries about work, there were no worries about Voldemort returning, no thoughts of his kids ignoring his letters…. It was actually quite calming. It seemed that Kingsley had a similar train of thought because he seemed to calm down as well and didn't seem quite as subjected as he had when they were still at the ministry. But like always, solace in any form is short-lived. Kingsley's smile shrunk into a more serious expression. "Listen Harry, there is something that I really need to tell you…" he began as small traces of his conquer were made known.

"Yeah?" Harry frowned taking a chance to note the urgency in the minister's voice. Taking out his wand quickly he cast several privacy charms around the table, slightly irate with the way the calm had turned out. Of course there was always something to ruin the moment. The seriousness, however, quickly shot his ire away. It weighed heavily in the air and settled in his stomach as it began to slowly twist itself into knots.

"As I told you earlier, yes, the corruption is getting worse. As fast as we get people out of a position of power, someone replaces them that is even worse. But it didn't used to be like that. Something is changing…it's making everyone really anxious. And quite frankly, it is causing the ministry to begin to split at its seams…"

Harry furrowed his brow in thought, and set his fork down soundlessly. Setting his elbows on either side of his plate he put his face his hands and leaned anxiously forward. Not liking at all where Kingsley was taking this conversation. They had already talked about this to a certain extent. It was to be expected. But the urgency in Kingsley's voice nearly ran his blood cold, and urged him into listening attentively. It was like he thought then. There was something going on 'now' that was making things that weren't important, crucial. What in Merlin's beard was going on? Even if he was wrong about Voldemort, even if Voldemort wasn't coming back, something was changing…and something was going to happen. His gut said it wasn't going to be good. Though it wouldn't take a seer to see something like that. It worried him, nevertheless.

"But is gets worse," he expanded. Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It usually did. Conveniently enough… "I'm worried that someone may be trying to—"

"Minister! Minister!" someone yelled from across the room.

Harry nearly burst out laughing as he recognized the voice as the guy that Kingsley had been mocking earlier, instead he cursed under his breath at the convenient interruption. He took down the privacy charms and watched as three men approached the table. He had to admit though; Kingsley's whiney impression of the man's calls was dead on. He must hear it a lot to be able to have done such an accurate impression.

The three wizards were breathing heavily, as though they had been running through the entire ministry looking for the minister — which they probably had.

"Minister! There you are! We've been looking all over the place for you…" the same man that had been calling out to him said breathlessly.

Harry saw as Kingsley rolled his eyes, and eyed Harry with a look that said very clearly, 'of course you have.' The sarcasm masked in the expression forced Harry to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

"Let me guess," Kingsley began.

Harry watched suddenly as Kingsley's entire demeanor changed. His tired look dissipated, and he again looked the man that he had always looked. Strong, and dignified. It surprised Harry that even though he still had the deep circles under his eyes, and the heavy stress lining his face, that by just changing his mien those other trivial physical details became menial. It calmed Harry's nerves slightly to know what he had seen earlier, was just Kingsley with his guard down and was not entirely the condition that he was in currently. It made him worry less, even if it was only just a little less.

"It's urgent, and I need to leave immediately?" Kingsley continued. He was already on his feet and was reaching for his change purse. Placing about four galleons on the table before any of the three had a chance to say anything he gave Harry a mostly apologetic look. He shoved the money back into his cloak. "I'm really sorry Harry, I should have brought it up sooner. I knew this would happen sooner or later…"

Harry returned Kingsley with a meek smile and pushed his glasses further up on his nose subconsciously. "Don't worry about it Minister. I didn't really feel like talking about heavy subjects either, and it had been a long time since we had such a casual conversation. It was probably for the best that we got a chance to catch up with each other instead."

Kingsley smiled kindly, and knowingly continued, "I suppose we'll just have to pursue this discussion at a later date then." He sighed, and for a brief second his tiredness showed through again.

Harry offered a comforting expression and thought of an easy solution, "I know, why don't you come over to my house later this week or next week to eat dinner with my family. Then afterwards we can discuss the more…pressing matters without being interrupted."

"Yes, well," Kingsley nodded again, this time his face flickered to a softer tone with this new prospect. "That would be lovely, Harry. But I really must get back to the ministry for this 'urgent business,'" he winked and Harry laughed. They both knew it was anything but a serious matter. The three men standing behind Kingsley shared a confused and questioning conversation with their eyes. Harry chuckled lightly at it, before his eyes again found the minister. "Don't stop eating, on account of me," he continued and Harry found himself nodding again. And despite him self and Kingsley's encouragement his fork found its way back to resting on his plate. "Have a good lunch, then." Kingsley turned around to the three other officials and apparated back to the ministry after sharing a look with his underlings. He was followed shortly thereafter by his three companions that didn't spare a second glance at Harry.

Dejectedly, Harry let out a low sigh and ran his fork distractedly over the forgotten food on his plate. Not caring in the least that he was playing with it. So much for calming his nerves, he had only succeeded in wrecking them entirely…that and peeking his curiosity to a point he doubted he could correct, or ignore for that matter.

What in the world was going on?

**Scene Three of Three**

Harry hadn't stayed long at the restaurant once his company had left him. He hadn't eaten much after that point either, just stared off into the distance trying to make heads or tails of what he knew and didn't know of what was going on within the ministry. Once he had discovered that he was making no progress of any kind in waiting at a slowly calming restaurant, he departed. Almost forgetting completely to add a couple of galleons to the pile that Kingsley had left adorning the table. Though that wasn't entirely necessary as it wasn't that expensive of a dining hall. It wasn't until after he had deapparated, and appeared in his office that he was greeted by a rather interesting shock.

His office was filled to the cramping point of no less than fifteen nameless Aurors.

It took him several moments of barely withheld distress before he remembered what they were all there for: to go and find out any suspicious activity with the Death Eaters. Harry let out a frustrated huff as he felt the rather warm, and uncomfortably crowded conditions of his office first hand. It was then that he realized that his office was NOT meant to hold this many people at one point in time. Grumbling in a rather surly manner to himself as a brief sense of claustrophobia washed over him he quickly whipped out his wand and spelled the room to magically expand so that he could breathe again. Consternation gone, and his ability to breathe returned to him Harry wondered why no one had taken the time to do so already. Judging by the temperature and clamminess that his office had taken on, the group of wizards and witches had been in the cramped room for quite some time. Seriously, how many wizards did it take to screw in a bloody light bulb?

Harry did a three second once over on the chattering room full of Aurors and took his time to cast several privacy charms on his office, just in case someone outside the room thought that it was weird to have twenty odd people crowded into his office at one point in time. At least, he really hoped that his top Aurors were somewhat suspicious (even if it would be bad for him in the long run if they were), it would be quite disappointing to know that his Aurors couldn't figure that out.

Idle chatter continued with undiminished vigor, even once he had apparated in. The hushed anxiety and whispered curiosity didn't let up. Though he expected no less from his newest recruits.

He decided to make himself known; after all, there was no time like the present. "Alright then, is this everybody?" he asked the room only somewhat rhetorically. His voice, though steady and demanding, was no higher than his normal talking voice, however, it did its purpose as all of the occupants hushed rather quickly. Harry was surprised to see that a majority of the witches and wizards in the room looked a bit frightened in solicitude. It was probably their first time getting called to his office; he ruminated upon. It may have seemed silly to him, but they were probably thinking somewhere along the lines they were going to get fired or disciplined. They sure looked fearful enough. Harry cleared his throat. When no one made a move to answer the question he continued, "Yes? No?" even if this group wasn't everyone, he would start explaining everything now. Straggles would be ignored and not offered this opportunity.

"Alright, I'll take that as a yes." Harry surveyed the new recruits. There were only three females in the group, which wasn't quite surprising. Normally there was only a handful of girl Aurors anyway. The ratio didn't change much from year to year. At least, it hadn't during his time at the ministry. It also wasn't that surprising that he didn't recognize any of them. They had only been working here just under a month, and he hadn't had much of a chance to introduce himself to them yet. "Right, well, I am Harry Potter as I am sure you all know. I don't really care what you call me as long as it is respectful. Now then," Harry introduced himself quickly only pausing as he took a moment to observe how nervous everyone still seemed. "I bet you are all wondering why you are here, if the confusion is anything to go by…" Harry smiled crookedly in an attempt to calm everyone's nerves. It appeared to work as several people had their shoulder slump as though they were beginning to relax somewhat.

"And to help pacify some of this tension, no I am not going to fire any of you, nor are you in an ounce of trouble," this seemed to be the most effective form of his slight coaxing as the entire room seemed to let out a breath of relief. He couldn't help the smirk that slithered onto his lips, "Yet," he added suddenly. The room went cold for a moment before he laughed out right at the stunned expression. "That was a joke," he clarified, but no one dared laugh and there were still quite a number of mortified mouths.

"Right, then," Harry said again; a nervous habit he had picked up over the years during his public speaking. "I may as well get to the point. I have a task for all of you. It is not overly difficult, but it will be very time consuming…so all of your regular work, you will be excused from." Harry watched as he slowly peeked the interest out of every person in the room. A light seemed to come to their eyes at the prospect of getting away from all the paperwork they were most likely swamped with. All of the bad jobs seemed to roll down hill and got stuck with the new comers. He smiled when he thought about some of the junk he got stuck with in the beginning. Not fun.

"You can think of this as an initiation test if you want, I honestly don't care if you do. As long as you get it done, that is. Basically, I need every single one of you to find out all of the known Death Eaters — those proven and suspected, both — and compile a complete and detailed list. I want to know where they live, if they are in or have served any time at Azkaban or not, what they were accused of, where they are right now. I wouldn't mind a list of the places they go: actually I expect it." Harry started listing off the things that he wanted to know with his fingers and watched at the light turned to dread in their eyes. It was a time consuming task, after all. "I want to know about their family, and any suspicious actions they do. Most importantly, I want to know exactly what they have been up to for the past six to twelve months."

As Harry continued through the list he realized, much to his own chagrin that all of these new Aurors were between the ages of eighteen to twenty: every single one of them had been born after or during Voldemort's final fall. It would have been an interesting thought to him, to realize just how much time had passed if it hadn't interfered with the task at hand. This newly discovered development could cause quite the litany of problems for himself. These young Aurors were about five to six years old when the last Death Eater's fate had been decided. This could prove to be a most difficult problem. It almost made him wish that he could chose some of his older Aurors for this job, but he knew he could not. It would arouse far too much suspicion if he did. But the gap in the common knowledge of these Aurors was quite unsettling. It very well could spell out disaster for his plan.

Harry was so caught up in his worries that he almost didn't notice a young man toward the front of the group make eye contact with him. "Mister Potter," the young man with dark hair and sharp disquieting eyes began. Harry could tell from the look of the man — that reminded him of Hermione — that he would have a quick mind, though he couldn't place the nervous feeling the pit of his stomach gave him.

Harry nodded questioningly, an encouraging move for the man to continue.

"I thought that all of the problems with the Death Eaters was already taken care of? I also thought, that each of the Death Eaters was already assigned a well-experience Auror that does periodic checks on them to make sure they aren't doing anything suspicious?" There was something that seemed almost challenging in the man's tone, but he couldn't figure out if it was direct more at his mind and his intelligence or at himself directly.

Though Harry wanted to smile at his correct judge of character of this new Auror, instead he frowned. Yes, that was all correct. However, he couldn't very well go up to the Aurors that are already assigned to Death Eaters to get the information that he needed. He didn't want to create a panic. But he couldn't really tell that to them, he was already treading on thin ice with this secret. "Yes, well, that is all right, but this task is more for you…" Harry stalled trying to think for a minute of a cover that would make sense. This was really becoming quite irritating to have to dodge everyone's questions. "So that you can know more about what we have done…in the past," Harry began slowly. Taking time to formulate exactly what he wanted to say in his mind before he said it aloud. "Think of it as a history lesson…" he smiled. That would be the perfect cover. "The difference between you new Aurors and the more experienced ones — isn't simply about their experience," he answered more readily picking up the pace in his speech. "They also have a entire reservoir of knowledge that they can readily use, and I am not talking about a knowledge of spells. It's much more than that…it's the common stuff that the older Aurors take for granted. Stuff they inherently know due to their experience.

"Since all of you were still very young during the time that we gathered all of the Death Eaters, you can't possibly remember all of the day to day progress as the wizarding world made to recover after Voldemort's—" the room flinched "—destruction." Harry was suddenly very glad that he had turned the groups' weakness into such a perfect cover. "All of you are missing out on a ton of vital decisions that the Aurors had to make about the Death Eaters and what to do with them. Even the new group of Aurors from last year had slightly more of an understanding because they were slightly older than all of you at the time. This will help you get a more solidified background on the current known dark wizards and how we've handled them in the past," Harry finished smoothly.

The other man that had stepped forward frowned instead and continued the pursuit of his argument, "but what will learning about dark wizard that have already been taken care of do to help us become better Aurors and know what to do in the future?" His eyes flickered again, but Harry ignored it this time.

Harry smiled brightly at this new line of questions. He could recognize what a great asset to his team this Auror would make. It was a good thing he would be working on this job. But this is exactly one of the things that he had been talking about. Any of his older Aurors would be able to answer a question about the importance of their past actions effecting the dark in the future. This was also something that he had learned in great detail from Dumbledore when the man had disclosed the history of Tom Riddle, and again when he had found out about Dumbledore's past…and countless times again today. It was actually quite a simple answer, "Ah, but that's where you're wrong. What happens in the past can greatly affect the future. When Voldemort—" flinch "—first started to look for his followers, he had been able to get them onto his side surprisingly easy because they had no one to follow after Grindelwald's defeat. I think it was because everyone was in denial that there was a new dark lord that Voldemort got a powerful group so quickly. The wizarding world was vulnerable.

"When he died the first time the wizarding world went right back into denial. It took over two years for everyone to believe he was back for a second time. Dark wizards tend to stick together; they are bread. The next generation of dark lords will most likely come from the Death Eaters children. By studying the Death Eaters you will be preparing to know what may come next…" Harry smiled when no one made a move to question him again. Apparently he had convinced them that he knew what he was doing. Which was a good thing because he did. That, and he was not very confident that if someone asked another good question he would be able to answer. The last questions he had pulled the answers out of thin air.

"Anyway," Harry continued not wanting to risk another question sneaking into the conversation. "I have a couple of rules to set in place before I send you on your merry way. First of all, you cannot under any circumstances talk about this task to anyone outside this room. Not friends, boyfriends, girlfriends, family—whatever. No one outside of this room. Not even other Aurors, weather they are assigned to Death Eaters or not. Actually, especially not if they're assigned to Death Eaters. That would be cheating. Everything you find out must be on your own.

"Though I will allow you to talk to each other about it; don't be stupid. Make sure you cast privacy charms when you do discuss it. No one is to find out what you are doing. You can talk to the Death Eaters themselves — they are mostly harmless now anyway — and can even talk to other people to get more information. I don't mind if you tell them you are Aurors. But I don't want you to tell anyone what you are doing or researching." Everyone seemed to some degree suspicious at this decree and on Harry's strange emphasis on secrecy but no on made a move to speak. They were probably sure that Harry would have some excuse for it if they asked. Even though he didn't yet. He even made eye contact with the man that had asked the only questions. It seemed he recognized that there was a lot more to what they were being asked of them. But even knowing this, the Auror didn't say anything.

"Also," Harry continued completely ignoring the animosity and suspicion that seemed to circulate around the room. "This is very important: I want to be updated daily by each and every single one of you: at least for the first seven days. From there I want to be updated whenever you find any crucial information. But I do not want to read through the same stuff twice so make sure you keep in contact with each other. I would suggest making a master list of Death Eaters and divide it up accordingly. The main thing I want to know is all the details of the activity from the last six months." Harry smiled when everyone seemed a little relieved that that was all the information that he wanted sent to him. "Suspicious activity would be among the crucial information.

"For today I just want you to finish whatever you were working on earlier. Tomorrow I expect my first owl from all of you." Harry smiled, "Any questions?" When no one answered he took down all of the privacy charms. "Very well then. You are dismissed."

**End Chapter**

_To be continued…_


End file.
